


keep your hands to yourself

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: kinktober 2017 [19]
Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Domestic, Kinktober, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Overstimulation, Scratching, assholes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 11:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12556864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: “Roman, get the fuck off of me.”“Why?” His weight is draped on top of Peter, covering him like the world’s heaviest blanket, pressing him down in the mattress. Teeth scraping along the back of Peter’s neck, he continues, “You seriously want to stop?”





	keep your hands to yourself

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 29 of Kinktober 2017, using the prompt 'overstimulation.' 
> 
> warning for some minor misogynistic language, because these two are assholes.

“Roman, get the fuck off of me.” 

“Why?” His weight is draped on top of Peter, covering him like the world’s heaviest blanket, pressing him down in the mattress. Teeth scraping along the back of Peter’s neck, he continues, “You seriously want to stop?” 

“For fuck’s sake.” Peter presses his palms into the mattress and shoves himself up, biting back a groan when his cock, wrung dry from at least five orgasms (he lost count after the first two) brushes against the sheets. For a moment, he thinks Roman might just stay on top of him but thankfully, just as his arms are threatening to give out, Roman rolls off and thumps onto the mattress. Flipping onto his back, Peter glances over at the window. The curtains are parted, and beyond them is nothing but dark sky and falling snow. “It’s dark out. We’ve been in here for hours.” 

“The sun goes down early this time of year,” Roman says, stretching out and tucking one arm behind his head. It should be impossible for him to look so goddamn relaxed and smug when there’s blood smeared around his mouth, nail marks tracking down his ribs and come dried to his stomach and thighs, but he’s managing nevertheless, and Peter kind of wants to choke him. 

Except Roman would just like that, kinky shit that he is. 

“Seriously,” Roman continues, kicking Peter in the calf. “Shelley isn’t bringing Nadia back until morning. Don’t you want to take full advantage of that?” The arm not tucked under his head reaches out, and his fingers trace over Peter’s hip, which is spotted with so many bruises that it looks like an apple that’s been dropped half a dozen times. 

“If you touch my dick again, I’m going to kill you,” Peter replies, swatting Roman’s hand away. His hip is far from the only part of him covered in hickies; he’s throbbing with bruises in a dozen different spots, his muscles ache from tensing and clenching through so many orgasms, and he’s fairly certain that his dick is going to chafe if Roman wraps his hand around it again, even with the high quality lube they have. 

(At least the Godfrey money is good for something.) 

The worst part is, aside from the blood he’s licked up from the shallow bites and scratch marks littering Peter’s body, Roman hasn’t even _fed._

Fucking upirs and their goddamn stamina. 

__

__

“Pussy.” Roman says it with _fondness_ as he stabs his finger at one of the more purple bruises littering Peter’s torso. 

It still makes Peter want to choke him. 

Before Peter can dredge up an insult of his own from his clouded mind, his stomach rumbles, reminding him in extreme volume that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast at eleven, and even then, he’d only managed to scarf down half of his bacon and eggs before Roman dragged him back upstairs. 

“Look, asshole,” he says, slapping Roman’s hand away again. “If you make some damn food and let me have a shower, maybe we can talk about fucking again.” 

“You want me to make you dinner?” Roman asks, raising an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smirk flickering around his swollen lips. “Just for a chance to _talk_ about fucking again?” 

“Make me a steak, and that chance will turn into a sure thing,” Peter says, slowly sitting up and looking around the room for some clothes that aren’t totally written off.

The mattress rustles beside him, and moments later, a clean smelling shirt hits him in the face. 

“Fine. I’ll make you a fucking steak. Go have your damn shower.”

“You’re welcome to join, if you can keep your hands off me,” Peter says, gesturing to himself and wiggling his eyebrows at Roman, who is sitting on the other side of the mattress, looking back over his shoulder at him, pale back covered top to bottom with red scratches. 

Roman rolls his eyes and gets to his feet. 

“Yeah, whatever, asshole. Hurry up, or you’re getting a crispy steak.” 

&.

Peter stays in the shower for nearly forty minutes, letting the hot water from the dual shower-heads sink into his sore muscles and wash over the goddamn love bites he’s littered with. 

Roman doesn’t burn his steak. 

They fall asleep before they can even talk about fucking again, on the couch with the television playing a horror movie marathon turned down low, and they only wake up when Shelley brings Nadia home the next morning.

All in all, even though he’s more bruise than intact skin and his dick _still_ hurts, he can’t think of a better way to spend a day off.

**Author's Note:**

> and now that I've written 3 fics for this fandom in less than a week, I'm going to disappear again for another 3 and a half years.
> 
> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
